LINES,

WRITTEN AT WEST COWES, IN THE ISLE OF WIGHT, August 1, 1793.

DELIGHTFUL COWES!

To thee a vagrant Muse,

But newly lighted on thy sea-wash'd shore,

Her ready homage pays:

And much she joys to see thy little strand,
And winding walks along thy circling hill,
Pour forth at early morn and dusky eve,
Their numerous train, to breathe salubrious air,
And seek the cooling comfort of the wave.
The first and fairest of the English dames,
Have here inhal'd the salt breeze, bath'd their limbs,
And feeling, blest the vigour which they gave,
Tho' more and lovelier than the present Fair,
Thy hill ne'er boasted-fairer ne'er will own,
Tho' thousands fair and lovely hither come:-
And Albion's sons are here, of title high;
But high or low, I doubt not, all are brave;
That's our chief boast, and may it ever be!
For who that from thy towering summit, CoWES,

Surveys the wide extent of sea and land

Behold her highly cultivated fields

(Thy fields, not less with gen'rous culture rich)

And sees thy ocean's bed of wavy green,

And sees her fleets-the envy of the world :

This fill'd with commerce, and that fraught with death,

At anchor riding, or with sails unfurl'd,
But feels the BRITON throb in every vein-
Blesses his stars he was a BRITON born;
Or not a BRITON-wishes that he were!
And prays her ships may still triumphant ride,
And keep their well-earn'd empire o'er the world.

But wherefore, COWES-were thy commanding cliffs, Thy cleanly cots, and people cleanlier still, In honest ways industriously employ'd, And fam'd for much civility and worth; So long neglected, and so little known; Save by the sun-burnt tars who seek thy port, Or the brown husbandman who tills thy soil; Was it because the tender timid maid, Shrunk from the surging sea that parts this Isle, And scarcely parts it from the parent land? Banish such fears, ye Fair Onesi and be sure, When smooth the level surface of the deep, The smallest boat will bear you safely o'er ; When rough, a simple skiff with loosen'd sails, Catching the breeze, will waft her beauteous freight, With equal safety o'er its billowy back.

'Tis yours, ye British Youths, to lead them onYes! let your boldness shew there's nought to fear; Teach them to like what they must after loveLead them to view, from this enchanting spot, Scenes most romantic-ever shifting scenes, On ocean's swelling wave; and on the land, Such as must ever fix and charm the sight, 'Till the sense ache with pleasurable pain.

Then be thou, CowEs! the safe and sweet retreat,
Of sick'ning nature still, and frame robust;
And on thy healthy height may ev'ry year,
New mansions rise, -light, picturesque, and neat;
Such as with joyous pride I now behold,
Rising full fast to greet the stranger guest;
'Till all thy ample breast in graceful pile,
Be built and cover'd o'er.

Beauty and Fashion here have fix'd their seat,
And long must keep their court-keep it I trust,
And with increasing pomp-till the green sea,
Shall change its hue, and nature cease to charm.
Oh then! for ever hallow'd, and for ever pure,
Of power to renovate and lengthen life;
Be the salt wave that gently beats thy shore,
And the brisk air upon thy breezy brow !-

1

L

THE YEOMAN OF KENT.

WHAT are riches, or titles, or power, I trow,
Sung a hearty old YEOMAN of KENT-
To the humbler but happier distinction I boast,
In the best of all blessings-Content.

What tho' time o'er my forehead has scatter'd his snow,
And his wrinkles profusely has lent;

Yet this heart is unconquer'd by sorrow or care,
And my eyes shall still twinkle-Content.

From my youth with the lark I have welcom'd the morn,
And the day still in industry spent;

Sweet the rest I enjoy'd when my labour was o'er-
Oh, sweet is the couch of-Content!

T' improve my small farm, and my family rear,
Was my mind still unalt'rably bent,-
And tho' I ne'er sought the philosopher's stone,
I have found out the jewel-Content.

If as Quarter-day came, and my Landlord appear'd,
I cou'd throw down the whole of my rent,-
Why I fill'd the brown jug, and deriding curst care,
Drank deep of the draught of-Content.

My talent tho' small, yet I trust I have us'd,

To most of the purposes meant,

For bugbears or dæmons ne'er haunted my dreams, Or scar'd from my pillow-Content.

From my door never yet the poor shiv'ring wretch,
In sickening affliction was sent;

For I felt to deny the small pittance implor'd,
Was to rob my own heart of-Content.

If distress'd was my friend, and tho' scanty my store,
Yet to give him some succour I went,-
Except once-when I own that I might have done more;
And that once, why I knew not-Content.

No fine fangled schemes, wealth or power to gain,
Cou'd my mind e'er pursue or invent,-
For I knew not the value of things unattain'd;
Tho' I knew how to prize my-Content.

No change wou'd I wish, and no man's prouder lot,
Will I envy, or once circumvent ;-
Let madmen and fools fickle fortune pursue,
I covet not aught but-Content.

Nor while in this world I am suffer'd to stay,
Will I seek my dear joys to augment;

Ah! why shou'd I risque for some bauble at best,
Sufficiency, Health and Content.